Blood Magick (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy 3)

“Drink and don’t argue,” he ordered. “It’s your own potion.”

“I was there, all the light and power rising up, and the brew stirring in the cauldron, thickening, bubbling. Then I was watching myself, and you, and hearing the words I spoke without speaking them. I’ve had flashes of what’s to come before—all of us have—but nothing so strong or overtaking as that. I’m all right now, I promise you.”

Or nearly, she thought and drank the laced tea.

“It’s only when it left me, it was like being emptied out entirely for just a moment.”

“Your eyes went black as the dark of the moon, and your voice echoed as if from a mountaintop.”

“I wasn’t myself.”

“You weren’t, no. What came in you, Branna?”

“I don’t know. But the strength and the light of it was consuming. And, Fin, it was beautiful beyond the telling. It’s all that we are, but so brilliantly magnified, a thousand suns all around and inside at once. It’s the only way I know to tell you.”

She drank more tea, felt herself begin to settle again. “I want to write it down, everything I said. It wouldn’t do to forget.”

“I won’t be forgetting it, not a word.”

She smiled. “Best to write it down in any case. A weapon forged—it must have worked then.”

“The poison’s black and thick as pitch.”

“We have to seal it, keep it in the dark, and charm the bottle to hold it.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“No, no, we conjured it together, and there’s something to that, I think. So we should do the rest together as well. I’m altogether fine, Fin, I promise you.”

She set the tea aside, got to her feet to prove her words. “It should be done quickly. I wouldn’t want the poison to turn and have to go through the whole business again.”

He kept an eye on her until he was fully satisfied.

After they sealed the spell, she took two squat bottles, both opaque and black, from the cabinet under her work counter.

“Two?”

“We made enough, as I thought it wise to have a second. If something should happen to the first—before or during—we’ll have another.”

“Smart and, as always, practical.” When she started to get out a funnel, he shook his head. “I don’t think this is something we do that way. I understand, again, your practicality, but I think, for this, we stay with power.”

“You may be right. One for you, then, one for me. It should be quickly done, then stopped tight, again sealed.” She touched one of the bottles. “Yours.” Then the other. “Mine.” And walked back to stand with him by the cauldron. “Pot to bottle, leaving no trace on the air, no drop on the floor.”

She linked one hand with his, held the other out, as he did. Two thin streams of oily black rose out of the cauldron, arched toward the bottles, slid greasily in. When the stream ended, they floated the stoppers up, in.

“Out of light, sealed tight, open only for the right.”

Relieved, Branna flashed white fire into the cauldron to burn any trace left behind. “Better safe,” she said as she moved to take the bottles, store them deep in a cupboard where she kept the jars of ingredients used, and the poison already prepared for Cabhan. “Though I’ll destroy the cauldron. It shouldn’t be used again. A pity, as it’s served me well.” Then she charmed the door of the cupboard. “It will only open for one of our circle.”

She went to another cupboard, took out a pale green bottle basketed in silver filigree, then chose two wineglasses.

“And what’s this?”

“It’s a wine I made myself, and put by here for a special occasion—not knowing what that might be. It seems it’s this. We’ve done what we must, and I’ll tell you true, Fin, I wasn’t sure we would or could. Each time I thought I was certain of it, we’d fail. But today?”

She poured the pale gold wine in both glasses, offered him one. “Today we haven’t failed. So . . .”

Understanding, he touched his glass to hers. “We’ll drink to today.” He sipped, angled his head. “Well now, here’s yet another talent, for this is brilliant. Both light and bold at once. It tastes of stars.”